Chapter 2
People Skills
Sawyer
The fancy silver sedan kicks up dust as it travels toward Dawson Ranch, and I struggle to reconcile the image I’d painted for myself of Wes Dawson as an adult with the reality of the man who stood before me moments ago.
I remember Wes working on the ranch, roping cattle, driving the side by side, two-stepping at the county fair, and raising hell around this town in his teen years, but I couldn’t merge the boy I knew with the polished man who had stood before me, clean-shaven, with no callouses on his hands, reeking of expensive cologne and looking like he’d be too afraid to climb into a saddle.
Soft is what I would have called him.
It’s no wonder I hadn’t recognized him at first. His jaw had lost all the softness of young adulthood, turning sharp, whereas his middle had softened just a tad, and he’d filled out in the shoulders, becoming broader, more substantial.
I blow a piece of loose hair out of my eyes with a loaded sigh. He said he was here to help Pops, but I didn't buy it. Why now, after all this time? Something didn't add up.
I had a feeling Wes wasn’t sticking around long enough to be of much help.
He'd seemed on edge—teeth gritted, fists clenched, weight on the balls of his feet like he wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.
It was clear he didn't want to be here, and he’d leave Pops alone on that ranch without a second thought if it meant he could get out of here quicker.
I'm convinced he's like every other city slicker that blows in and out again just as quickly. Like a tumbleweed just passing through. None of them wanted to be stuck in this small town, with its predictability, lack of amenities, and complete absence of privacy. They looked down on us. We might not have MBAs or fancy cars, or suits that cost more than a mortgage payment, but people here would drop everything to help each other. This small, tight-knit community in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska had something they didn’t.
Heart.
We lived a simpler life—fewer screens, no traffic—but that didn’t make us less than anyone else.
Wes never used to act superior, but after he called this place a "shithole" and couldn't take some good-natured teasing, it's obvious. He's just another city boy seated atop his high horse, looking down at the rest of us.
I decide here and now, I don’t like this new version of Wes Dawson. Mr. Fancy Pants with his hair neat and gelled and his poorly concealed looks of distaste.
I begin the trek up my gravel drive and whistle to Dixie, so she’ll follow, deciding my trip into town can wait until morning. Famished, I don’t take the time to heat up the leftover chicken in my fridge. It tastes just fine cold, and time isn’t something I have a lot of these days.
The shrill sound of my cell pulls my attention from my supper, and I don’t bother looking as I answer with my mouth still full. “Yeah?”
“Sawyer, we’ve talked about this.” My best friend’s tone is lightly chastising.
“’Bout what?”
“What’s an appropriate way to answer the phone?” Allie asks like she’s quizzing one of her students on what to do in case of a fire.
I roll my eyes at my best friend’s admonishment. “I think we’ve also talked about how I don’t give a fuck whether you like the way I answer my phone. You don’t like it, then don’t call me.”
She snorts her derision at me through the line. “You’re as stubborn as a mule.”
“You love me anyway,” I point out.
She sighs and concedes, “God knows why, but I do.”
I smile to myself and discard the last of the chicken by handing it over to Dixie, who’s waiting patiently on the floor for her fair share. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I just wanted to let you know that whatever you did the other night really pissed off Kyle, because he’s going around town spreading stories like manure.”
I blow a raspberry in agitation. “What I did? The man is a complete buffoon. I tried being pleasant, but he made it impossible, so I showed him my claws.”
“Oh, Lord have mercy. What happened?”
I study my nails, which still have dirt under the bed. They could use a good scrubbing. “I threw my drink on him when he tried to cop a feel and left him with the tab. Why? What’s he saying happened?”
Allie is quiet on the other line, which makes my spine go rigid. “Allison Matthews, you tell me right now what that tiny-dicked loser is saying about me.”
I can hear the wince in her voice when she finally answers. “Well, you know... just that you were wasted and throwing yourself at him all night, and when he told you he wasn't interested, you threw a drink at him.”
I spit out my annoyance. “That little shit. I told you I didn’t want to go out with the guy, and this is why!
He thinks he’s God’s gift to women and when we’re not impressed with his antics, he makes us out to be crazy.
I don’t have the patience for a man who needs me to stroke his oversized ego for him. ”
“You haven’t been on a date in forever, and I thought maybe he’d grown up a bit since he stopped making his daddy pay for everything and got his own job. I’m sorry!”
“Well, I suppose we can go ahead and put that in the ‘Allie was wrong’ column. Kyle is a dead man next time I see him,” I note. Dixie ambles over and plops down at my feet as I lean against the counter.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Put it in that column along with everything else I’ve ever said. You know that guy I was seeing?”
“The one from Crawford that you met on an app?” I say, trying not to let my distaste for dating apps color my tone.
“That’s the one." She sighs into the phone. "I dumped him."
“What was wrong with this one?” I mutter.
Allie hadn’t been in a serious relationship since her last boyfriend had cheated on her, and she’d been with him on and off since high school. Unfortunately, I was relatively certain she was still stuck on him.
“He was married.”
“Seriously?”
“He forgot to ditch the wedding ring when we went out last night.”
“Oh, what an asshole.”
“Yep,” she agrees.
Allie was a little flighty and a touch na?ve, but it granted her eternal optimism, which was a good yin to my overly cynical yang.
She drew men in like moths to a flame, but the pickings were slim in this dinky town and the quality, lackluster, especially when we’d known most of the boys since their awkward school days and dating some of them would feel downright incestuous.
Allie concluded dating apps were the way to go and scrounged up men from the surrounding small towns, but no one ever stuck, which was fine since everyone I’d met didn’t deserve her.
“Why are men the most disgusting species on the planet? I swear there isn’t a single redeeming quality in any of them,” I say.
“They can’t all be bad. We've just had some bad luck.”
I scoff. “Yeah, okay, Little Miss Sunshine. Keep your optimism and see where it gets ya. They’re all a bunch of egotistical jackasses.
Take Wes Dawson, for example. He just rides up in his expensive car, blocks the end of my driveway, and expects me to fawn all over him while he calls the town that I happen to love a shithole. ”
“Wait. Wes is back?”
“Well, he was here today, dressed like he was heading to a business meeting while he changed his tire.”
“I haven’t seen Wes in ages. What’s he doing here?”
“He said he’s helping Pops.” My tone is colored with disdain because I don't trust this new Wes as far as I can spit.
“Oh, right. Helping his grandfather, who had a heart attack a month ago. What a jackass.” Her reply drips with sarcasm.
“You weren’t here, Allie. He acted like he was above it all and looked at me like I was dirt on the bottom of his shoe.
” I don't mention his perfectly styled hair or the polished loafers—no need to seem petty.
But he was nothing like the Wes I remembered, and this pretentious city version of him just didn't fit.
“Was it because you snapped at him and called him a jackass while he was changing a tire?”
Maybe I spent too much time with Allie. She was all too aware of my short fuse.
“What? No! That’s not what happened. He was sitting there on top of his high horse, and I just called him on his bullshit, is all.”
“Sawyer, honey, I love you, but you really need to work on your lack of people skills.”
I groan into the phone. “I do not need to work on my people skills. I spend my days around Dixie, the goats, and my horses. They don’t give a shit that I get a little cranky when I’m hungry.”
I loved working out here by myself. Loved the feel of a leather saddle, the sound of the horses whinnying their enjoyment as we trained, and the smell of hay.
It had taken me a few years to get this town to take my horse training business seriously, but I was proud of the life I’d made for myself here. It was mine and no one else’s.
“God forbid anyone annoys you on an empty stomach.”
“I’m saying.” I smirk into the phone.
“I miss you!” Allie whines. “Come into town tomorrow night. Let’s have a drink to celebrate me making it through parent-teacher conference week.”
Allie was a kindergarten teacher at the local school district.
And conference week was always an exhausting combination of working twelve-hour days, eight of those on her feet, and finding a nice way to tell parents their child was a little monster.
Allie was stronger than I was. Lord knows I wouldn’t last a day at that job.
“Ugh, and listen to all the rumors Kyle’s spreading about me in real time? No thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Come on! We haven’t had a girls’ night in forever. Pretty please? With sugar on top?”
I could picture the way those dark brown eyes of hers would go all round and innocent when she said that. Allie was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted something. It’s how she’d gotten me to agree to go out with Kyle in the first place.
She’d been my best friend since I’d moved here when I was ten.
She’d stood by me through everything. Our rebellious teen years, the two years I’d spent married in my early twenties and the somewhat contentious divorce after, through my soul-searching and going back to school to get my degree in equine science, and then finally through me starting my horse training business and buying this little old house when the owner, Rusty Henderson, went into assisted living.
It's hard to believe we’d been best friends for twenty years. She was the most important fixture in my life, other than my animals.
“Earth to Sawyer. Are you drinking margaritas with me tomorrow night or do I have to go alone and look pathetic drinking by myself?” she says, interrupting my trip down memory lane.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll come with you. I’ll meet you at Herds at seven.”
“Yay!” she squealed into the receiver. “You can tell me more about your run-in with Wes over margs.”
Great. Just great. Wes Dawson was absolutely the last thing I wanted to discuss.